Blisspoint

The chemists know it:

a curve on the graph

where sugar sings loudest,

before the tongue grows numb.

The marketers know it:

a dial tuned to craving,

not too much, never too little,

just enough to keep you

coming back for more.

And we know it too—

that moment

before laughter becomes hysteria,

before love curdles into need,

before the glass tips

from savour to stupor.

The blisspoint,

not paradise, but a razor’s edge:

a sweetness balanced

on the lip of ruin.

Step too far,

and the song turns shrill.

Hold steady, and for one breath,

you taste perfection—

then it vanishes,

as all true bliss must.